


A wish for more

by phisen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover - The Witcher fusion, Innkeep!Yuuri, M/M, Pining, The Witcher universe, Witcher!Victor, dark and gritty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10422000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisen/pseuds/phisen
Summary: When a witcher comes across a boy, things are set in motion.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's the Yuri on Ice/The Witcher crossover you never thought you needed.
> 
> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

He clicked his tongue, telling the mare to walk on. He felt annoyed. Being dependant on a fickle thing as other people’s words had proven itself to be a disappointment, yet again. It was like that now, for him and his dying breed.

Once esteemed, even revered, the witchers used to have it easy. Being the only ones that could cull beasts, they had been treated like royalty. Back when the world was new, when it first got the first blight-like visit from the human race. That was all in the past now. The humans had taken over, taken control over beast, elf and dwarf. Not intending of ever giving up that power or the land that came with it.

He sighed. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure what was worst. The beasts he hunted or the beasts that told him to do it. It had started to get blurry, the lines between what was good and what was right. Sometimes, the situations he found himself in wasn’t even close to being good. Or right.

So, there he was. On horseback with a measly payment clinking in his coin purse. People’s words were indeed nothing to put trust in, anymore. He’d argued for more coin, the sum they’d agreed to before he ventured out to see what was wailing in the fields. When he came back, he was disappointed to receive just below half of the previous agreement.

He tugged at the collar of his armour. The leather was stiff after the altercation, smelly too. He couldn’t wait to get out of it, maybe even bathe and, of course, drink. He wasn’t sure what but it had to be alcohol. That was certain.

“What do you say, girl,” he patted the mare on her neck. “Delightful way to spend Belleteyn, don’t you think?”

The mare plodded on, without even a snort to tell him that she understood.

He saw Midcopse in the distance. He decided not to pass through. If he kept a higher pace, he would eventually reach Oreton, and after that… who knows? Following The Path wasn’t a thing for people who liked to plan ahead. She was a fickle mistress, and accepting whatever she threw at him was the best lesson he ever learned. He was thinking of travelling north, seek contracts in and around the bigger cities to save up for travels to the south. The winters in Toussaint were actually pleasant.

As he felt the first drops of rain, he cursed. He gathered the reins and adjusted the sword that was strapped to his back. He would have to hurry. Getting wet was just as disappointing as not getting paid. As soon as he gave the mare a tap with his heels, she fell into a canter. She wanted to rest under a solid roof too.

* * *

 

The canter became a gallop once they passed the ruins of a manor, not grand and beautiful as it once was. Time, she was a cruel mistress too.

He approached a crossroad, knowing very well that steering right would take him a little more down to the south. To Oreton. But, something made him pull back on the reins of his golden mare. As the sound of her hooves became muted, he listened. Yes, there was a sound that got carried by the wind. No doubt about it. It was very faint, though, but his senses were heightened which made it loud enough.

It sounded like a cry. A cry for help? Yes, the tone was shrill, panicked. He decided that his mistress was showing him the way, taking him by the hand, as he spurred his mare in the opposite direction.

As he got closer, the cries became louder. Overpowering the sound of the galloping hooves. It came from the riverbed, he concluded.

Drowners, a whole hoard of them. But where did that cry come from?

He unmounted and drew his sword. Squinting slightly to focus. He needed to make sure that what had made that cry still was alive. Or dead, sometimes that happened too.

“No, please! Help me!”

_Alive._

He sped up, prepared himself to clash into the disgusting disfigured beasts that once were men.

 _Six of them, not a problem._ His fingers moved on their own accord, making the intricate sign that would blow them away. Literally. _Aard!_

As two of the beasts flew back into the water, he spun around, tried to locate the origin of the cries. A child, it seemed. He stepped in front, making sure that the drowners wouldn’t get to it. A pirouette and a downward slash took care of the one approaching from the left. With his free hand, he pulled up a knife, and with movements that came instinctively, he sunk it into the base of the skull of yet another. He pulled it out, not even noticing the fleshy sound it made as brain matter and blood trailed behind it in an arch. He hurled it against a third monster, knowing very well that it would pierce through its eye. He didn’t even bother looking to make sure.

The fourth, the only one still being on dry land, hunched down.

“Come here, fucker.”

Two steps sideways and a double handed blow later, made the decapitation easy. Too bad his angle was wrong, he would have liked to spare the child of staring into the empty and glassy eyes as the head landed just next to it.

He flicked his blade, ridding it of blood, before he sheathed it. He stepped up towards the… boy? Yes, a boy. Young too.

“Don’t look to your left. You’re safe.”

He had unusual features. His skin was another tint, with black hair. The eyes opened slowly. Peculiar shape, he wasn’t from Velen. Not from Temeria either. They looked like almonds. Of course, the almond-eyed boy looked to his left, and froze in disbelief. It was definitely his first time seeing something that dead, that close.

“Come.” He held out his hand. As he understood that the boy wouldn’t take his eyes off the disfigured head, he grabbed his elbow and pulled him up. He was a small and light child.

"I’m taking you home,” he said as he put him in front of the saddle before mounting. “Where do you live?” No response, just a hanging head and two shaking hands against the mare’s neck. “Do you have a name?”

He tapped the mare with his heels. The boy wasn’t prepared for the movement, he had to put one arm around his waist to steady him, to prevent him from falling off. He felt the small hands grab his arm.

“Yuuri.” The voice was low. Almost impossible to hear.

“What? Speak up.”

“My name is Yuuri.”

“Well, Yuuri. You were in luck today. Point me in the right direction, if you please. Your parents must be worried sick.”

* * *

 

He had pointed, with a shivering hand attached to a quaking arm, in the direction of home. He couldn’t stop shaking. Having that arm around his waist didn’t help much, but… a little. He was safe now, but it felt like his body couldn’t believe that fact.

They rode for a short time. He had been looking at the horse’s mane, seeing how the black strands whipped back and forth as the head bobbed with every stride. The movements were new to him. He’d never been on a horse before. It felt like he was about to fall off as soon as he relaxed, so he stayed tense. Suddenly appreciating the arm around him a bit more. It was keeping him in place.

He dared to look over his shoulder a little. He wanted to see who had saved him, who this gift from above really was. He had long, silver hair. Braided back slightly. How unusual for a man. He seemed weathered to him. Like he’d been through a lot. The most peculiar thing about him, though, wasn’t the long hair or the serious face. It was his eyes.

He looked like a cat. Amber eyes that reflected the light in an uncanny way, with vertical slits instead of pupils. He got the feeling that he should be scared, or at least have some kind of respect for him but… No, he felt enthralled. He hadn’t seen him fight, but he had disposed of _monsters,_ single handed. What was he?

He felt foolish as their eyes met. He knew that he was staring, and that was rude. His saviour raised his gaze again, chuckling. He couldn’t understand what was funny. Grown-ups usually did that. Chuckled when something amused them, not really letting anyone in on the joke.

He saw the village up ahead. He was safe. He was home.

* * *

 

He dismounted. Moved slowly as the crowd started to gather. It was always like that. A witcher meant trouble these days, even if a contract was posted.

“I seek the parents of this boy!” He lifted his arms, pulled the child off the horse. He kept him in front of him, with his hands on his shoulders. He really needed adequate pay for this. “Is there anyone here to claim him?”

He saw people stir, parting in the back. A couple pushed through the crowd, hurrying to get to him. Or the boy.

“Are you his parents?” He wanted to make sure. He had told himself never to repeat that mistake ever again.

“Yes, yes! That’s our boy! That’s our Yuuri!”

It was definitely his family. They shared the same exotic appearance. There wasn’t a possibility that they weren’t related.

“Thank you, thank you master Witcher.”

And now, for the discussion that was just as uncomfortable for him as it probably was for them.

“About myㅡ”

“Please, master Witcher! Stay with us tonight. It’s Belleteyn,” the father said, his voice sounded with a peculiar accent. “There will be food, drinks and love. You are in Claywich, after all!”

He spoke the truth. It was Belleteyn, the Blossoming. The fertility festival that said goodbye to spring and welcomed summer. And… usually relations of the flesh. How could he say no?

“I thank you. I’d be happy to accept.”

“Then, it’s settled,” the father said as he watched his wife leading the boy away through the crowd. “Please, follow me. You must be, uh, longing for a bath? No?”

As a matter of fact, he was. Wearing armour, sleeping outside, getting drenched in all kinds of fluids… he knew what that did to him and his appearance.

He followed the man through the crowd that was slowly dispersing. Apparently, he and his wife owned the local inn. He decided it was worth as much as a payment in coin. To be able to sleep in a bed, with a roof over his head. With his belly full and his body clean. It was a stroke of luck to have come by that boy.

* * *

 

He sat on a chair, feeling warm hands comb out his newly washed hair. She was braiding him. It was a pleasant experience, he gathered.

“Master Witcher, thank you for saving my little brother.”

He nodded. He bit back the standard response, like he always did. ‘Don’t mention it.’ ‘It was nothing’. Thing is, most of the time, saving someone was something indeed. But now, it felt like it was indeed nothing. Nothing that needed to be mentioned. He felt a little surprised. This was new to him.

“There. It looks lovely. You have such lovely hair.”

She showed him the back of his head with a little hand mirror. His hair was braided intricately, almost making patterns. He had to laugh.

_Flowers, even. Well, it’s Belleteyn, after all._

“Thank you. Mari, was it?”

The girl beamed at him. That linen dress looked good on her. She probably should have laced it up a little more in the front, but it was Belleteyn. After all.

“So, master Witcher. Would you like to see the festival grounds?”

“Lead the way.”

She took him by the hand, tugged him along. He smiled on the inside. His world consisted of two, no, three types of women. The ones that locked themselves in whenever he came their way. The ones that, much like the one pulling his hand, saw him as interesting and, also, the ones you could have for coin. They were usually the easiest to get along with. He knew where he stood with them.

She showed him every little nook and cranny of the village. He was polite, even though he found it extremely tedious. The festivities hadn’t started. When she dragged him into the barn, he knew what she was after. He thought about it. Maybe it could act as a nice diversion. After all, he _had_ saved her brother.

She was inexperienced. That was somewhat of a disappointment. She tried to make him interested, doing all sorts of things that would have been somewhat arousing but she tried too hard. She wasn’t sure how to be a woman.

As she brushed up against him, trying to get access to his face with her own, steps could be heard. She shied away instantly.

_Yes. Not quite a woman. Just yet._

“Master Witcher?” The little brother came through the door.

He had to bite back a smile. _Master Witcher? Did he even know what a witcher was?_  “Yes? What is it, Yuuri?”

“I… I have something for you.” His arms were behind his back, hiding something.

He got down on one knee, coming down to his level. Looking into his brown eyes. “Oh?”

“Ye… yes! Here!” He held out a wreath of flowers and placed it on his head. “For tonight. For Belleteyn.”

He wasn’t sure, but it looked like this young boy was blushing. It was kind of endearing to see such a gesture from a boy. They weren’t usually like that. Any other boy would have asked him to show his sword, asked about monsters, asked about kings, queens and everything inbetween. But not this boy. This almond-eyed little one.

“Thank you, Yuuri.” He put his hand on his head and ruffled his hair a bit. “Happy Belleteyn.”

“Happy Belleteyn… Oh! I… I don’t know your name. Do you have a name, master Witcher?”

“I do. I usually don’t tell people, but I can make an exception for you.” He smiled. Which, in retrospect was strange to him. “Would you like that?”

The boy nodded. Once he started, it looked like he would never stop.

“Stop, stop and I’ll tell you. There, good. I’m Victor.”

“Victor?”

“Yes.”

“Happy Belleteyn, Victor!”

He looked into those sparkling brown eyes, wondering what impact, if any, their meeting would have on this boy’s remaining life. Not knowing that it already had set a lot of things in motion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

Her moans echoed in the chamber. With every thrust, she cried. She was a widow, true, but this was something else than her not being touched by a man for a long time. She was putting on a show for him, of that he was certain. He wondered why. If she knew how many women he’d had, and men too for that matter, she wouldn’t try so hard to make herself seem special. Because that, she wasn’t.

At least, she had offered herself to him, and that was commendable. After he received his coin. He grunted. Not because of the meeting of the flesh he just partook in, more of annoyance. It felt like she’d bought him. He suddenly realised that was indeed the very reason she was moaning, wailing like a wraith. She became very uninteresting with that discovery.

He decided to make it quick. For her. He had lost anything resembling lust.

Not before long, he left her there. In her grand mansion, on her exquisite estate, as she was writhing.

* * *

 

Dusk was approaching. There was no village nor town in sight, he would have to camp underneath the stars. He wasn’t too familiar with Kaedwen, except for the whereabouts of Ard Carraigh and Ban Ard of course. The unfamiliarity with the land was one of the reasons for him not being underneath a roof with his head having to rest on a saddle instead of a pillow.

He left the road, headed through the brush and undergrowth. He wanted to light a fire, and for that, he had to remain somewhat out of sight. He didn’t need the fire for the light it emitted. He wanted it for its warmth.

After riding a couple of hundred paces, he dismounted. He caressed his dun mare. She was a terrific companion. Loyal and trusting. Two traits rarely seen in men but always in beasts.

She started to graze immediately, as he loosened the girth and pulled off the saddle. Rummaging through the saddlebags, he found the halter and lead rope. He slid the neck piece over the ears, and fastened the throat latch. He led her away, just a couple of paces, and tied the lead rope around a branch.

The mare would always come to his call, but he wasn’t keen on looking for her, waiting for her, if she wandered off. Especially not in the morning when he felt stiff and cold and wanted to get on with his journey. Also, she was safe if she was by his side. He was sure the horse knew that.

“Good girl, Plotva.” He gave the mare a pat as he left the her side.

As he started to gather sticks and dry leaves for the fire, he thought about the horse’s name. Strangely, it was the only word he could remember from his mother tongue. He'd forgotten all about it, what once was. Who he was before he got left by the steps of the witcher stronghold. On the steps of the School of the Cat.

He made a circle out of some stones he found, and placed his bits and pieces for the fire within it. With an uncanny speed, he gesticulated a sign and focused. The leaves, branches and small twigs came alive, like the fire had sprung from them without any outside help. He warmed himself up a little before unlacing and unbuckling every rope and strap of his armour. He slept better with it off of him, no two ways about it. The gloves, he kept on.

He reached for his blanket and bedroll, dropped an arm’s length away from the fire. The coarse wool had stopped prickling years ago. Now, it just felt comfortable being huddled underneath it, in front of the fire.

 _Left on the threshold._ His mind wandered back to the earliest memory he had. The one he just couldn’t seem to forget.

* * *

 

He was afraid. Cold. Both on the outside and the inside.

He had been ripped out of his bed, put in front of the saddle of his uncle’s horse without getting the chance to dress. He sat there, in his nightshirt, shivering. The howling wind pulled at his hair and the tattered garment he wore.

“You see, we just can’t keep you anymore. I think my hospitality has been tested enough.”

The horse fell into a canter.

“I just did it to please your father, you know. Besides, you’ll be better off there. They’ll make a proper man out of you.”

He didn’t understand. He felt his eyes tearing up. Where was he going? And… why? The realisation that he wasn’t going to stay in that little cottage anymore, see the chickens peck for things to eat amongst the gravel, sleeping on the hay-strewn floor in front of the fireplace… Just as he’d started to relax. Started to find some kind of peace inside.

“Uncle, please,” he pleaded. “Can’t we go back? I swear I’ll be good! I swear!”

He was met with a silence. And a cold that outmatched the tearing wind.

 

**~**~**

 

They rode for hours. He had lost the feeling in his hands and legs.

He’d become listless. Nothing had worked to appease his uncle. Not crying, not pleading, not screaming, not kicking, not cursing. Not even falling off the horse, deliberately, and hurting his shoulder in the process made him turn the horse around.

So he ventured into the depths of himself. Accepted his new fate. Or rather, stopped feeling alive. Lost every last bit inside of him that resembled him of strength.

Eventually, they reached a fort. It looked menacing to a young, terrified boy. Almost carried by the scruff of his neck, he watched as his uncle banged the door. As soon as the door opened, he was shoved to the ground, scraping his bare knees on the stone.

“A boy for you. Do with him as you see fit.”

“Good man, do you actually think we can make do with _this_? How old is he?”

“He’s your problem now.”

“How old?!”

“Six. Six years old.”

The hurrying clacks of his uncle’s boots was the last thing he heard, the last thing he remembered, before the impenetrable void claimed him.

* * *

 

The crackle of the fire brought him back. It was a blessing. He found it strange how that memory still haunted him, almost half a century later.

Sure, his life hadn’t been easy. Maybe that had something to do with it, how the memories kept forcing their way into his consciousness. He’d accepted his fate, though. Made peace with the fact that he would walk The Path, being incapable of submitting himself to anything else. Anyone else.

The matter of connecting with people. That was still a wound that hadn’t healed. Not being allowed the chance to bond with others was something he’d been rebelling against, ever since he was taken in by the School of the Cat.

The Cats were murderers. Assassins. Not at all like the other Schools. With very few decent people amongst their ranks, they had strict rules about interacting with the outside world. He’d been kept prisoner, at least he had come to that understanding as he got older. He figured it was a desperate act to try and make young boys, and on occasion girls, fit the mold. Stripping them of important bonds, making them bitter and resentful. Angry, with the world and themselves. Making them perfect for what the Cats did best.

His human side had been fighting for its survival in the midsts of that disturbed gathering of individuals. When the Cats were disbanded, it had felt like he’d been set free. He had decided shortly after, not to succumb to the reputation that preceded him and his brethren. Although still tied to The Path, he’d tried to regain some of what was lost, taken from him. Sadly, he’d been repeatedly failing.

He thought about it. What had been taken from him during the years he spent with the Cats. The first thing they took was his confidence. By degrading him, telling him where he was on a scale from little to nothing. That was something he’d been trying to rebuild ever since. He’d made a good effort too. He was very confident now. He knew his limits and how to push them.

Secondly, he’d been deprived of his personality. Of the sense of who he was. Ever since they injected him with their secret concoction, putting him through the Trial of the Grasses, he had been lost. His blue eyes were suddenly amber, his emotions that used to be easily brought forth had retreated somewhere deep within him. His heightened senses were nothing like how he was before. It was the worst week of his life, without exception. With every vomit, every blackout, every nosebleed, he’d faded away. Someone else emerged, eventually. His seniors called it ‘his new and superior self’. He had gotten used to that person now but… he wasn’t sure if they got along all the time.

Thirdly, they’d… taken away his future. The saying ‘No witcher has yet died in his own bed, of old age, dictating his will’ stung. He knew that it was true. Also… he would never sire a child. Witchers were barren, due to the Trial. It was yet another sad fact he’d been fighting to accept. Of course, it was a double edged sword. Considering how he let off steam, it was favorable sometimes, but he still struggled with that realisation.

He shuddered. Not from the cold, it was being kept at bay. It was more of a reaction to what was going on inside. Like he wanted to rid himself of the thoughts that had started to prod. He looked over his shoulder to watch his mare. She was sleeping, with one hind leg bent and her head low.

He decided to follow her lead.

* * *

 

Just a few patrons left. The group of elderly men by the door who had been puffing away on their pipes ever since they came in. The two farmhands who barely could lift their glasses to their lips. And that man, down in the darkest corner.

He had been friendly. Not drinking any alcohol. Barely eaten anything. He seemed to be occupied with observing, every little detail, every little word. He had this constant smile on his lips, like he was amused. That was strange, since there wasn’t anything going on in that little inn that was even remotely funny. A slow and tedious evening, like the countless ones before and, most likely, the countless ones that were to come.

He decided to approach him after a while, to see if he was happy with his service.

“I’m sorry, sir. Everything’s to your liking, I hope?”

The bald head turned slowly, and extremely dark eyes met his. The man was slightly rotund, and a stubble darkened his cheeks.

“Very much so. I’m enjoying myself. Nice establishment.”

“Thank you. It… it was my parents’.”

Anyone else would probably have said something consoling, something to make that sad expression on the innkeep’s face softened out, but not this guest. He met his eyes with nothing but a calm and that peculiar smile.

He kept studying him. Those pitch black eyes lingered. Like he was seeing into his soul, or at least, that is how it felt. Making him uncomfortable. The smile did nothing to ease that feeling.

Suddenly, he spoke. His voice was calm. Oily. Like it seeped in everywhere and stuck. Clinged to him. “Don’t you worry. He’s coming. Twelve years since last, is it not?”

He flinched. _How could he possibly..._

The sound of a tankard shattering. He turned his head and saw the farmhands, almost slithering on the floor. They were definitely done for the night.

When he turned his head back, to that dark corner, he realised that he was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

He'd been travelling for too long. He felt it everywhere. Spending months on the road did nothing for his battered body, but he was driven by that vow to keep going. See where The Path was leading him.

Travelling through Kaedwen briefly took him south, to Aedirn. He had spent some time around the border, assisting the stray garrisons in the Pontar Valley. The war had left the Valley in shambles, and for a witcher, it was easy getting contracts because of it. A lot of monsters sought the corpses that had been neglectfully piled up without a proper pyre, and war, well… It never brought out the best in men either so contracts were abundant. On both man and beast.

After spending too much time getting yelled at, spat at, cursed at, and even worse, told what to do by men half his age, he resigned. Took his hard earned money without as much as a word and thought about where to go. He could go south, travel through Lyria and Angren to get to Toussaint. Spend some time in the warmth of the season. Eat cheese. Drink wine. _Oh, Erveluce!_ He could go northwest and head for Redania, and especially the city of Novigrad which was a goldmine as far as contracts were concerned. Or, he could head west.

He hadn't been in the western parts of the Northern Kingdoms for ages. Temeria, Cidaris, Velen… A lot of water had passed under the bridge since his last passing through. He wondered what it was like there, now. He had heard about the assassination of King Foltest of Temeria. By a witcher no less, a Viper. What had become of his brethren, stooping so low. Apparently, Temeria was under Redanian rule now. _That asshole Radovid._ These were trying times indeed.

He pulled out his necklace that had gotten stuck underneath the stiff riveted collar of his armour. The face of the silver cat, hissing and baring its teeth, caught a little of the sun that was left. The reflection made his amber eyes shine. He felt the chain tug a little at the back of his neck when he let the medallion fall out of his hands.

His curiosity got the best of him. He'd decided. He was going west. Through Temeria for starters, and maybe even as far as Cidaris. If nothing unexpected would happen on the way.

* * *

His travels took him to Ellander. The duchy was small, the only thing worth noting was that it housed the temple of Melitele. Gods and devils were nothing he believed in. He had realised a long time ago that those qualities all resided in men, and it took very little to see them manifest themselves. It was like that, though. People projecting their inner fears and wants to outside objects. Not taking control of their own lives. Leaving their fates in the hands of… fantasies.

He sought out the inn, decided to try and eavesdrop a little. Contracts were scarce here, but he needed something to fill up his purse. As he walked in, he felt disappointed. No patrons at all, nothing to gain information from. He walked over to the innkeep and was met with a frown.

"We don't look kindly upon your kind here, witcher."

"I can understand that," he replied, tried to keep a cheery voice. "But he's not me and can't be considered a witcher either. That kingslayer of yours." He winked a little, doing his best to act disarming.

The innkeep gave him a cold look. Like the words were working through a very intricate maze before it hit home. The innkeep was a little slow, he concluded.

"Fair enough. You aren't all wrong, my apologies."

"Don't mind it. Say," he continued, tapping his lips with a finger, "have you heard anything about somebody travelling west in need of assistance?"

The innkeep stopped polishing the jug he was rubbing with a disgustingly filthy cloth. The witcher decided that he wouldn't ask for a drink.

The innkeep was thinking hard. After a couple of minutes, he gave him a small nod. "I have."

_Finally. I'm in luck._ "So, my good man. Care to share that information with me?"

Apparently, a merchant had been boasting about having just returned from Toussaint with fabrics. He was on his way west, he'd left for Vizima early that morning. He couldn't really understand what good it would do him to chase after a man with a six hour head start, but he decided to find him.

He was quick to get on his mare and kicked her sides hard. There was no time to spare. He really needed to catch up to this merchant.

* * *

He regretted his choice almost immediately. The merchant, an elderly man with too much to say about everything and anything, was just a couple of hours outside of Vizima when he caught up to him. The time they shared together was the longest two hours of his life.

He talked. And talked. And then, he talked some more. Strangely, there wasn't a subject too small or too large for him to have opinions on. As the gates of Vizima became visible in the distance, the witcher became selectively deaf.

"...and that's why the silks are so fantastic from Toussaint. The thread count, witcher! Oh, we're here."

_Not a second too soon._

"Of course, about your payment…"

He sighed. Always the same discussion.

"Yes?"

"If you could make it to Claywich, with just a few rolls from back there," he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the back of his cart, "I'll double it. I'll give you a letter to the recipient, so don't worry. I know how specific you are about getting paid."

He thought about it. _Claywich. That was in… Velen. Two, maybe three days on horseback. It's actually reasonable._ He decided to take the merchant up on his offer. Retrospectively, it was the smartest thing the old man told him to do during their short acquaintance.

* * *

The thunder rolled outside. Days, and evenings too for that matter, offered little to no guests visiting the small inn. People rarely travelled through this time of the year, and never when the weather was bad. Considering this, what happened next would prove to be a surprise for the young innkeeper.

"Yuuri? I've cleaned up so I'm going now. You can take care of the rest, can't you? I doubt we'll have any patrons coming in tonight."

"Sure, it's fine. You go, Mari." He watched as his sister pulled the hood over her head and darted out into the darkness.

He was alone. Much like that evening when a flicker of hope had been lit inside him. He had been secretly wishing for it to be true, ever since. Still… he hadn't shown. Hadn't come through that door. Sometimes, he thought of himself as gullible. Why would a stranger, albeit a mysterious one at that, know his deepest secret? And why would he believe the stranger when the he said that _he_ was coming.

His eyes glanced over at that corner. The darkest corner of the entire inn. It was, what, three months or so ago when he had started to hope. Hope for the chance of seeing him again.

He went over to the hearth to put in some more firewood. The rain outside dampened the place, made it feel almost as wet as the world outside.

He heard the door open. "Welcome! I'll be with you in a second."

"I stabled my mare. I hope that it was fine."

He froze, standing in front of that hearth. He knew that voice. He remembered it so well. Ever since that day when he'd been hoisted in front of him on his horse, that voice had been burned into his memory. He was here. He really was. Just as predicted. Funny, that.

He turned around with great trepidation. He remembered his voice, but his face wasn't as clear in his memory. What if he wasn't at all as he'd remembered him to be.

They caught each other's gazes as he turned around, as walked a little closer. Strange, how he suddenly became that little boy again, afraid to look into those amber eyes. But he did anyway, faced the fears of his twelve year old self and felt jubilant as he did.

He was soaked. His silver hair was untidy. Still long, still braided in a way that made him think that he did it himself. Some strands were loose, stuck to the side of his face because of the rain. He studied his face a little. A small scar on his forehead, tapering off at the bridge of his nose. That was new. Maybe, he couldn't really recall. Other than that he might… look the same.

_His name. His name was Victor!_

"I'm sorry. Are you feeling well?" The witcher's question was filled with concern.

He felt his heart beat like it was going to burst. Shatter on the inside. He felt his cheeks heat up, much like the fire that grew in the fireplace behind him. What was he supposed to do, now that he was here? He had been thinking about meeting him, seeing him. What _he_ would say, what _he_ would do but… he realised that he hadn't been giving himself, his actions, or reactions much thought.

The witcher stepped closer. His cloak was making a small pattern of raindrops on the floor. Why was he suddenly looking at the floor? He wanted to look at him.

His hand gripping his arm made him do so. Coaxed him into looking at him.

"Are you feeling well?"

He was. He really, really was. That realisation made him snap out of his chaotic inner world and meet him in the here and now.

"I… I'm fine. My apologies, I… got caught up in something. Memories."

The amber eyes were… mild. A small smile shadowed the witcher's lips. "Good," he replied.

"I, uh… suspect that you'll be needing a room, master Victor?"

He never noticed that he'd said his name out loud.

The witcher did, though.

* * *

Another bucket. The wooden tub seemed to never get full.

The witcher had asked for a room, declared he wanted, no, needed a bath after months on the road. The young innkeep wasn't in a position to say no.

He'd gone out in the rain to retrieve things from the stable, just briefly, and he saw him coming back in, heading directly for the stairs. Carrying something square. A large parcel of some sort?

He directed his eyes toward the cauldron, although everything inside him asked him to keep his eyes on the witcher as he walked up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. The water had started to simmer a bit. It was time to empty yet another bucket into that tub.

After repeating the same motions for something that felt like a never ending loop, the tub was finally filled. He went up the stairs to fetch his guest.

He rapped on the doorframe. The door was open, but he never dared to walk straight in.

"Yes?"

He realised that he never could get enough of that voice. Also, it amazed him that he had remembered it down to the very intonation it had.

"Your bath, it's… it's ready so, come with me if you please."

He followed him, down the stairs and into the back room. He had to look over his shoulder at one point, he wasn't sure if he still was there behind him. His steps were inaudible, like he was a cat sneaking across the floor.

"So, here you go. It's not too warm now, I hope." He felt silly as he fidgeted with a cloth in his hands.

"Thank you. This, I have longed for. Immensely."

Those amber eyes, yes, they were on his when he said it. Or… no? Yes, they were, they absolutely were. He felt his pulse elevate at once. He tried his best to calm himself. There was no way he knew what he was feeling, there was no way he felt the same. After all, he was just some insignificant innkeeper in the backwaters of Velen. And he was a witcher.

He heard the clink of belt buckles, it made him slightly more aware of his surroundings. The witcher had turned around, he was undoing his gloves.

He knew that he should probably leave, give him his privacy, but he couldn't move. As the gloves were dropped on the floor, the witcher continued with his armour. It made his breathing come to an abrupt halt. He really should go, he needed to. For his own sake.

"Take this for me." He had shrugged off the armour, holding it with one hand outstretched. Exposing his back.

He viciously got slammed back into reality. That's what it meant being a witcher, he thought to himself. Scars were covering the majority of his skin. The different textures made his back look like a map. Yes, a map of the world in some sense. But here he was. Alive. Even though all those bites, slashes and tears could have made it totally different.

He walked closer, relieved the witcher of the armour. It wasn't as heavy as he had thought of it to be, but he had to use both hands to keep it off the floor.

"Thank you. Put it somewhere to dry. Not too close to the fire."

"It'll make the leather dry." He hated himself for saying it, for making himself stand out. But it just came out, rolled off his lips without him having any means of stopping them.

As the witcher turned around, he was rewarded with a smile he never thought that face could produce. It was warm. Engaged the eyes too. Shortly put, was a beaming smile. One he would like to see often.

He nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door as he left. Standing on the other side, he had to lean back, find some support in the damp walls of the inn. He felt weak, like his whole being responded to that smile.

_He's really came. Just like he said he would._

* * *

He reclined, gathered up his hair and let it down once his back touched the edge of the tub. His body had yearned for this. Being able to get warm, down to the very bones. To get clean. Wash off potential sins he'd been dressing himself in since the last time.

He moaned slightly, one of contentment. He shifted and put his legs over the edges, letting them rest by the back of his knees.

He chuckled. That innkeep, he'd been flustered. He had seen that reddish tint on his cheeks, noticed his body language. And he'd heard that increase in thumps within him. His heart had been racing, watching him. Especially when he was undressing.

He found that amusing. And, even more amusing was the fact that he'd seemed to find it awkward to talk to him.

' _It'll make the leather dry.'_

Of course, he wasn't wrong. The leather would dry, rendering it uncomfortable and almost unwearable until it had been greased up properly. But in all honesty, why was that the only thing he could think of saying to him, even though he was a moment away of combusting? He had to smile when he heard that. He was indeed a young man, without the experience of being loved like an adult. Maybe he hadn't even loved someone, maybe that was something unexplored for him?

He pulled his hands through his hair. _Yes, the braids._ He started to untangle them when his thoughts started to circle around something else.

_He knew my name._

That was peculiar to say the least. He never gave it out, unless he absolutely had to. But this young man, he knew. So, that would mean that they had met once before. He couldn't for his life remember when it might have happened.

Last time he was in Temeria… well, that was a long time ago. If he had to make an educated guess, maybe it was a decade? It was impossible for him to remember the finer details.

But that young man puzzled him. With that peculiar tint to his skin, that dark hair. Those… almond shaped eyes. He felt a small tug on the inside. Yes, they had met before. He was sure of it now, although the memory of the meeting eluded him. It was like it was hiding from him. As soon as he thought he would remember, it shied away, just out of reach. Out of his sight. Out of his consciousness.

_Maybe I'll ask him. If the opportunity rises._

He heard a faint knock on the door.

"Yes," he called.

The door opened, revealing the young innkeep. His heart was beating at a normal pace now. _Wonder if that'll change?_

"I just wanted to… uh, I wanted to ask you if you needed anything else, master Witcher? More water? Anything?"

_He didn't use my name this time._ "No, thank you. I'm content the way I am."

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the innkeep looking at him. Of course, he was sprawled out, with his legs on either side of the tub. If this young innkeep really found him… say, interesting, then he would be looking at him right now.

_Oh, yes. He is looking at me. I can hear his reaction._

"I could… I could wash your back? Spending time on the road, it must be… um, difficult getting clean?"

He looked at him. That young, inexperienced and delightfully awkward almond-eyed innkeep. He wasn't looking at him now, he was looking at the floor.

It wasn't that bad an idea to be honest, to get his back washed, but the realisation that the young man had actually asked him this… He hid his smile. It was clear that he was affecting him. But he could appreciate the innkeep's boldness. He liked when people surprised him, which was no easy feat. That was probably the reason why he said yes to the offer.

He retracted his legs, put them back into the warm water and moved forward slightly. Giving the innkeep access to what he was intent on doing.

He heard him pull up a stool next to the tub before he left his side, rummaging around somewhere behind him. When he returned, he glanced a little over his shoulder. The innkeep stood with a cloth in his hands, wringing it. Seemingly nervous. He decided to interfere. To push him a little by saying something.

"You're very effective. I can feel myself getting cleaner by the second." He said it cheekily, making sure to have a light tone in his voice.

"Oh… I… yes, I'm sorry."

He sat down next to him. He heard the sound of his hands breaking the surface of the water as he submerged the cloth, then wringing it out.

"I was thinking, master Witcher, that I… I'm not sure what soap to use, what scent you like, so I just… I just chose one. I hope it's to your liking."

He inhaled a little, feeling the scent grow stronger as the innkeep rubbed the soap against the wet cloth. It smelled of tar. It was actually a good choice. The more natural a soap smelled, the more oblivious beasts would be. If he was to stumble upon some after the bath, that is.

He understood that the young man was hesitant. Afraid of touching him, although he wanted to. Fighting some inner battle he couldn't understand the signification of. It took a while before the cloth touched his back, but when it did, it made him shiver.

"Oh! I'm sorry! Did I hurt you, the scars, Iㅡ"

"No!" He had sounded too harsh, he realised. He decided to correct his tone of voice immediately. "No, it's… No, they don't hurt. Not anymore." He wanted him to continue.

"I'll be careful," the innkeep said, low and apologetic.

He felt his hands touch his sides a little as he took his hair in his hands, pulled it a little to the side. It fell back to where it previously was, some of it was caught the the silver chain around his neck. The innkeep redid the action, with a question, this time.

"Can I put it over your shoulder?"

He hummed his response, watched as the long strands of silver billowed over his shoulder only to end up dancing on the surface of the water.

It felt good. Having him close, washing his back. That cool hand he had put on his shoulder as he braced himself a little to reach… Strange. He felt comfortable with having him near him. That was surprising. He could honestly say that he liked it. This was something else, not like the usual intimate moments he had on occasion. It was filled with reverence, respect. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, fully.

His soft voice broke the silence. "May I ask you something, master Witcher?"

"Certainly."

"All these scars. Have you been close to death many times?"

He huffed. _If you only knew._ "It comes with the trade."

"Hm."

He felt his back being doused with water. He was rinsing off the soap.

"Some of them look more recent than others, reddish, almost."

He never replied, due to his surprise. A trailing finger underneath his left shoulder blade, across his ribs, almost made him lose his composure.

"Like this one," the young man said. "What happened?"

He had to exhale slowly. _What is this feeling? The way he's touching me is… it makes me…_

"Master Witcher?"

"I… Forgive me. What did you say?"

"The scar here," he repeated the tantalising caress, "what happened? Is it new?"

"It's fairly new, yes." He drew a deep breath before continuing. "It was a kikimora. A kind of insect, large as a horse. I was sloppy."

The finger disappeared, much to his dismay.

"Imagine, our lives being so different," the innkeep mused. "I can serve the wrong drink and that's my way of being sloppy. You… you put your life at risk if you're not paying attention." There was a sadness in his voice, all of a sudden.

A silence spread out. Like they were both taken with the meaning of the innkeep's voice.

"Innkeep? May I ask you to tell me your name?"

Again, he could hear it. How his heart started to beat. Harder. Faster. How he seemingly failed to draw deep breaths. He felt some of it inside himself too. Another strange surprise.

"Yuuri. It's Yuuri," he replied.

After answering, he stood up and walked out of the room. Leaving behind a witcher that found the hot water surprisingly cool.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

He was sure that he hadn’t dozed off, but seeing the silver haired witcher come through the door came as a surprise to him. Either he’d fallen asleep, which felt incredibly embarrassing, or maybe the witcher sneaked past him on light feet when he wasn’t looking.

“Master Witcher,” he called before he got to the stairs.

He stopped and looked at him. Waited for him to continue, perhaps?

“I… wanted to ask you if you need breakfast?”

The witcher pulled a hand through his hair. It was still unbraided from the night before. He looked pensive. “Yes,” he answered after a moment’s thought, “please. But be quick about it. I must leave.”

It felt like a knife to the heart, the words he uttered. And at the same time, like a blow to the gut.  _ Leave? But… he just got here and now… Did my actions chase him away? _ He tried his best not to look hurt, disappointed. Judging by the split second the witcher narrowed his eyes, he failed.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be quick.” 

He watched the witcher walk up the stairs, in an almost soundless way, before he went to the larder.

**~**~**

It felt like he’d failed him when he came back with bread, cheeses, cured ham and a jug of cider. The witcher was already sitting at the table, looking out the window. He had a finger against his lips, like he was deep in thought.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a slightly winded fashion. “I tried to be quick, but Iㅡ”

“No need. Don’t apologise.” His amber eyes looked at him underneath silver lashes. It was a lovely image, seeing those two colours together.

He put down the groceries on the table and went behind the counter to fetch a couple of plates. He couldn’t really accept the fact that he had announced his departure already. He wanted to spend more time with him. He’d been longing for the moment that suddenly graced him yesterday, and now, it was going to be taken away. Just as quickly as the last time they met.

He put the plates on the table and sat down next to him. “Please, help yourself.”

“Thank you.”

They ate in silence. On occasion, their eyes met briefly. It was pure torture, he thought. Counting down the seconds until he would go out, mount his horse and disappear. He wanted to know if he was ever coming back, but he stopped himself from asking. After all, he was nothing but an innkeep. And he was a witcher. He might not even enjoy… him in that sense?

“To reunions,” the witcher suddenly proclaimed, raising his mug.

“S… sorry?”

“To reunions! May the next one you have be with someone you hold dear.”

Even though his words were incredibly bittersweet, he drank to that. Trying hard to swallow the cider that was drowning him.

After emptying his mug, the witcher stood up and wiped his mouth. “So…” 

“You’re going?”

“Yes, it’s time. Thank you for the hospitality… Yuuri.”

The way he said his name, it was just like the first time they met. The same tone of voice, the same warmth.  _ Why do you have to leave? _ He couldn’t do anything else than nod a little, as the witcher gathered his things and headed for the door. He decided to follow him, at least give him a proper goodbye.

He was quick and methodical as he tacked up his horse. Almost too quick, like he desperately wanted to get away. Like he was in a hurry. The mare was giving him a hard time not accepting the bit, making him seem slightly annoyed.

He mounted not by using the stirrups, but with an agile jump instead. Every single move he made was so fluid, so catlike, he thought.

“So, uh…”  _ This is goodbye? Will I see you again? Why does it feel like watching you leave is breaking me apart? _

“So, Yuuri. Thank you.”

“Master Witcher, Iㅡ”

The witcher clicked his tongue, making the mare approach him. To feel his fingers on his chin as he leaned down made him vibrate on the inside. He hadn’t cried ever since his parents passed on, but he felt it. This was exactly the same feeling, seeing him leave. Not knowing if it was goodbye for now, or goodbye forever.

“Call me by my name. I know you remember it.”

He blinked, feeling his eyes overflow. By his acknowledgement, by his touch, by his goodbye. “Victor, I... “ He almost slapped away his tears with his hand. Angry at his pathetic display of emotions. “Will I see you again?”

His fingers retracted as he took hold of the reins. “I hope so. Time will tell. Take care, Yuuri. Stay safe.”

And with that, an almond-eyed, black haired innkeeper felt for the first time what it’s really like to shatter because of love.

* * *

 

As soon as he’d trotted out of the village, he put his heels to the mare’s side. He needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and…  _ him. _ He wasn’t sure what would happen if he didn’t. The mare started to gallop immediately, stretching out with every elongated stride. Pushing her limits.

After minutes of gallop, the mare came down to a trot and after a while, she walked on. Taking her chance since her master wasn’t spurring her on. He was busy thinking. Trying to understand the chaos he was feeling within.

_ He was upset. Upset to see me leave. And I…  _ He squeezed the reins, making the mare stop. He had to dismount, the movements underneath him as the horse walked on were distracting. He put one arm over the saddle as he stood with his feet on the ground, leaning against the mare who quickly started to graze.

_ I don’t know. Did… I did hurt him? I did, didn’t I? I can’t. I can’t stop doing what I do. It’s in me. In my blood. I will always walk The Path.  _

He sunk down on his heels. Rested his head against his knees.

“Fuck, what is this?! Why does it feel like this?!” 

The mare snorted in response. Totally oblivious to her master’s outburst.

* * *

 

Months passed by. The only difference from before, before their meeting that stormy night, was that the emotions still lingered inside him. They were raw still.

Whenever he remembered their parting, he felt his heart clench. How he’d been taken by his emotions and how the silver haired witcher had tried to… console? Touching his chin like that. Saying what he did. Not showing anything on the outside.

_ He knew I knew his name. _

To any other love-stricken individual, that realisation would have served as a small comfort, but not to him. That connection felt like a punishment. He would have been happier if their names had stayed forgotten. It would have been easier. As soon as they called each other by name, something happened. At least to him. They suddenly shared a bond. A bond that became almost impossible to sever.

At first, the memories of him took up most of his days. During every moment he had to himself, he fell into reveries. Of their meeting, their parting. Of future meetings. Of the final meeting that might… make him stay?

After a while, the witcher didn’t occupy his thoughts as often. But when he did he became incapacitated. Almost stricken with grief.

“Yuuri! What’s wrong with you?!” His sister’s voice oozed with annoyance. “Stop that daydreaming, we have guests!”

_ Right. We have guests. _

He tried his best to be present, but it was hard. Both on his body and soul. His absent-mindedness made him do mistakes, mistakes that could have become dire. He’d cut himself thinking about the scarred back. Almost made the kitchen burn down when he was thinking of those amber eyes whilst looking into the fire. He felt hopeless. Hexed by him.

**~**~**

“Yuuri? Have you attended to the man down there?” His sister asked him in a low voice. She cocked her head a little, towards the… darkest corner of the inn.

He looked over her shoulder. He wasn’t sure what to think or what to feel, but the first thought that dangerously enough popped into his head was gratitude. He grabbed a cloth on his way to the table.

“Good day, sir.” He wiped the table a little, more for show than anything else.

“Good day, innkeep.” Those dark eyes. That peculiar smile.

“Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Something to eat?” He felt it again. The sensation of his soul being turned inside out, scrutinised.

The bald man looked calmly at him, dead in the eye. Without even blinking. “Soup,” he finally said after not avoiding the eye contact for something that felt like an eternity.

“Soup?”

“Yes. I’d like some soup.”

“Fair enough,” he answered hesitantly. “Just a moment, please.”

As he walked back, towards the kitchen, he felt his eyes on him. Much like his voice, it felt like they got inside him, saw everything. He couldn’t quite understand why that was.

He returned to his patron eventually, with a bowl of soup and a spoon. “Here you go, sir.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” The bald man paused. “Why don’t you sit down for a while? Keep me company?”

He looked over his shoulder. Not many guests and all of them had been attended to. He figured he could sit down, at least for a little while.

“Thank you”, the bald man said. “May I ask of your name, Innkeep?”

“Um… yes, I’m Yuuri.”

“Yuuri? That’s an unusual name.”

“Well, my parents weren’t from here.”

“Oh, I remember. They’d… expired, you said.”

“Yes. You have a good memory, sir…”

“Oh, I’m Gaunter. Gaunter O’Dimm.”

“Master O’Dimm. This is the second time we meet. Are you a travelling merchant or some sort, maybe?”

“I was. I used to sell mirrors, you see. To tell you the truth, I’m still known as Master Mirror.”

“Mirrors? That’s an unusual trade.”

“One might think so. But it has proven to be very lucrative.”

There was a silence between them. One that was slightly too long for being considered as normal.

The bald man with the dark eyes spoke again. “So. Did he come?”

He found it peculiar that he asked that question. Maybe he wanted to ask, just out of curiosity? Out of concern? “Yes.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” He paused, yet again. Just before he resumed speaking, he leaned in. Lowered his voice so that it became audible just for them. “ I know how that lonely heart of yours aches at night. How it wishes for someone. A special someone. What if... I made it so?"

His heart skipped a beat when the last sentence was uttered.  _ He can make him come back? To me?  _ At once, a million thoughts flapped around in his head. A million emotions started to stir inside his chest. He just had to ask, he knew that he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t. "You... can give me what I want?" 

The dark-eyed man put his fingers together, letting his fingertips touch as he put his hands on the table. "I can. Tell me, what does it feel like when you see him? When he leaves?"

As on cue, his eyes started to tear up.  “His goodbyes shatter me. I hate how fate tears us apart.” He had to stop. He had to stop his emotions from taking over. He sniffed a little. With a weepy voice, he continued. “When I was younger, I was told stories about how love can shatter you. How it’s supposed to make your heart feel like it’s made of glass. I think… I think what I feel might be love.”

The bald man chuckled. “Shatter, you say? So, you have a heart of glass?

He wiped his nose on his sleeve, feeling embarrassed for the public display. “I guess you could say that. Instead of parting, I wish to meet. Again, again, and again. I don’t care what the cost.”

“I agree, parting is such sweet sorrow.” He said it in a sing-sung voice. “Tell you what, your wish is my command. You will meet him. Again and again and again. And he’ll feel the same for you with every meeting, I’m sure. But… I want something in return. When the time is right.”

His response rolled of his lips immediately. “Anything!” 

“Let’s say I… take your soul?” He huffed as his smile got broader. “How’s that?”

_ Take my… soul? What a bizarre joke to make. What will happen to him, though? I need to know!  _ “Will it keep him safe? Will he keep coming back to me?”

“Why, certainly.” The man stood up, with the spoon in his hand. He looked… pleased, for some reason.

He felt a flicker of hope. He couldn’t believe that what he heard was true. Could this man make the person he yearned for to return to him? Again and again? With certainty? No need to worry and wonder if he was hurt? It sounded to good to be true. He figured he was pulling his leg, but then again… “Yes. If it was possible to make such deals, then I’d agree to that. In a heartbeat!”

The bald man’s smile suddenly resembled that of a wolf’s. “Don’t get too close, though. You don’t know how fragile you are.”

As soon as he uttered those words, the door to the inn flung open. It made the innkeep jump, turn around. A winded witcher held on to the doorpost, looking straight at him. As soon as their eyes met, he started running.

Behind the bewildered innkeep, a snap could be heard as a wooden spoon was broken in two and ending up on the straw-covered floor. If anyone had paid attention to the darkest corner of the inn, they would have seen it be broken by invisible hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

It felt like he had to hurry. He barged through that door, holding on to the doorpost as he caught his breath. He’d made it. He was back.

He quickly scanned the room. He wanted to see black hair and almond-shaped eyes. He felt almost relieved when that were the things his eyes first came upon as he steadied himself. Especially the eyes, those brown eyes were wide with bewilderment.

He tensed his arm as he heaved himself through the door, his legs moving on their own accord. He ran, he realised. Five or so steps later, he stood in front of him, at an arm’s length. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. What he was supposed to say. What he was supposed to think. As a result, he just stood there. Looking at him.

Was he the reason that he’d returned? He… thought so. But why that was, he didn’t know. Why had he felt compelled to come crashing through the door to see him? What was that strange feeling inside?

He felt his stomach rise and fall as his pulse started to slow down. It was as if he’d lost some of his impeccable self control, and standing still proved that notion. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he moved. 

He studied him. Noticed that those widened brown eyes became narrower. More inviting. How those lips went from slightly pursed to separated. How he started to sift his fingers through his own black hair. He’d seen that behaviour before. In women. Women with an idea, an intention. And now, this young man was displaying something… similar? How confusing this was. Even more confusing was the reaction his display initiated. The witcher felt... interested, somehow.

He saw a smile tease the corners of the innkeep’s mouth. It almost made him smile back, but just almost. He was more busy trying to understand, trying to register what was happening.

_ But oh… I want to touch him.  _ He stepped closer, his hand ready to meet his cheek. As soon as he thought his hand would touch his face, he had to take a few steps back due to unwanted interference.

“Yuuri! Step back,” a woman demanded. She put herself in between them. “Have you done anything wrong? Anything I need to know about?” She glared at him, amazingly enough letting her eyes rest upon his amber coloured pair. 

“Mari, no. I… I haven’t — ”

“Hush, little brother! Why is it that a witcher comes through our door, heading straight for you?” She turned her attention to the witcher again. “You! It’s been a while since you last passed through here. State your business, or I must ask you to leave! Your kind isn’t favored here in Temeria, you must know this!”

The witcher met her gaze. Calmly. Without letting anything he might have felt on the inside come up to the surface.  _ She remembers me, too. From before. I’ve been here, I’ve met them. I’m sure of it, although I can’t remember. _

He decided to answer her in a way that would calm her down. Not using any signs, just using his voice. “Relax. I come looking for a place to stay. For the night. Maybe longer.”

Her eyes seemed to soften as he uttered the last sentence. Coin, it spoke to her. Not really unusual, as far as he was concerned. He had another intention entirely behind those words he spoke. He needed to make sure of things.

It seemed like she was judging them, the witcher thought. Him and her little brother. Like she was trying to figure out exactly the same question that the witcher tried to get answers to.  _ What is this, really? _

She was intent on making sure that nothing would be found out on her brother’s expense. That was clear. He sensed that in her. That steady heart rhythm, the slight smell of adrenaline. She would fight him, if she could.

“We have a room available,” she said. Testing him with her words. Sizing him up, in a way. He found that slightly amusing, that she was unafraid. Confrontative. At the same time he understood that there probably was a reason behind her behavior.  _ She needs to protect him. Look out for him. Something has happened to them, something broke them. _

“Thank you,” he said after coming to that conclusion. Trying to find the brown eyes that was hidden behind the wall that was the sister. When he realised that it was moot, he continued. “Please, lead the way.”

* * *

 

He didn’t know what to feel. It had all happened so fast. Him getting emotional, him getting his hopes up and then… his dreams coming true. He had come back.

As he saw him disappear up the stairs, walking after his sister, he suddenly remembered. Yes, the darkest corner. He turned around and was puzzled to see it empty, yet again. He walked over, and noticed the untouched bowl of soup. He found that wasteful. As he reached over to pick it up off the table, he felt his foot step on something.

_ Why is the spoon… broken in half? Where did he go? _

He never felt anything that probably, if he was in his right mind, should have alerted him to notice the severity of the situation. How bizarre it was. But alas, he was too preoccupied with all the things that were racing within. All the fleeting, positive and blissful feelings that coursed through him.

He got tangled up in them. All the different variations of them. He understood that he wanted them to be answered. Reciprocated. But that would have to wait, just a little while. 

As it would turn out, he had to wait a bit longer than he’d expected. His day carried on, tending to patrons. Some had spotted the witcher and asked about him. About his behaviour. And naturally, the rumor spread. At first, he didn’t know what to answer but as the day trudged on, he had found some phrases that easily tumbled off his tongue. Ones that he continuously used. ‘He’s just passing through’, ‘I guess I reminded him of someone’, ‘Why don’t you give him a contract and put him to good use’.

He used the latter more often as the day became dark and turned into evening, hoping that  _ something  _ would come up.  _ Something  _ that would make him stay longer. But it happened nothing of the sort.

The witcher had kept to himself, not even coming out of his room. The innkeep wasn’t sure if it was a smart move or not, but as the novelty of the witcher being there died out, making the inn more quiet and not as busy, he showed up. Coming silently down the stairs.

He had changed clothes. He wasn’t wearing his armour anymore, and why would he? He’d made an effort to keep a low profile during his stay so far. Not wearing armour was probably another step to keep it so. He wore a simple, lightly coloured linen shirt that exposed some of his chest as it was crudely sewn together, and dark leather trousers. Around his neck was a silver medallion, depicting the face of a cat. He could have looked like any other man, if it wasn’t for his stature. He seemed to be on edge, ready to spring to action on any given signal. And then, of course, those amber eyes that reflected light like nothing else.

It took a while for him to dare to approach him, as he sat down close to the hearth. There weren’t many patrons left, just the drunken stragglers that plagued every inn as days drew to a close. His sister had left as she usually did, not staying to work at the inn during the night. But still, he felt hesitant, like he should be careful that his actions wouldn’t stay in the minds of people still occupying his establishment. But the need became too strong and he had to get close. He had to talk to him.

To mislead eventual onlookers, he brought with him a plate of grilled chicken and a tankard filled with mead from Sodden. He wasn’t sure if he would like sweet taste of it. He realised as he walked up to him that he knew nothing about him, but how he would love for it to change. He hoped that it would happen tonight.

He placed the plate and the tankard on the table and received a look and a small nod in return. “Please, help yourself.” He felt foolish. He hadn’t seen him in months and that was what he was greeted with? He tried to rally his thoughts, tried to see what he actually could say. What he wanted to say, well… that was a more complicated topic. “I’m sorry, I… uh, welcome back,” he blurted out as he sat down.

The witcher looked at him. It seemed as if he was trying his best to seem indifferent, but he failed as a small smile briefly spread itself out across his face. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

He nodded in return. “Can I call, or rather, what do I call you?” He kept his voice low, this was just a conversation between the both of them. “Can I use your name?” He felt a stir inside as soon as the words left his lips. The symbolism of being allowed to use his name, it would mean another level of intimacy.

The witcher chewed and swallowed before he spoke. He kept his voice low too, if it was for his own sake or the innkeep’s wasn’t entirely clear, the dark-haired innkeep realised. “You may. Sparingly.”

He nodded to show that he’d understood. He wanted to do the opposite of what he’d been told though. His name, thinking it, hearing it, speaking it, made things happen within him. The feeling was wonderful, sweeter than any wine, more potent than any hit of fisstech.

“Are you staying long?” It seemed like an eternity had passed since one of them last spoke.

“I hope so.” The amber eyes sought his immediately, like he had uttered a question that he needed an answer to.

The innkeep shifted, leaned in a bit to make sure they weren’t risking to be overheard. “I… I hope so too.”

As the witcher put down his tankard, their hands touched. It was brief, almost like it didn’t happen, but the innkeep gasped. Loudly. The sensation inside was something else, something he’d never experienced before. He steeled himself, decided not to let it show, even though it was uncomfortable. Hurtful, even. When he realised that he’d been vocal, he felt a heat spread out over his cheeks. That wasn’t keeping a low profile. He felt the heat spread to his insides too once he saw that the witcher was smiling.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher said, “do I have such an effect on you?” That claim was not considered keeping a low profile, either.

The innkeep retracted his hands from the table, feeling the urgency of keeping their exchange under control. At the same time, he wanted to be in control of himself. Although having the witcher here, at his inn made that resolve complicated beyond compare.

As the last patrons wobbled out the door, he sighed. Glad over the fact that there was time for them to talk more freely, without the need to look over the shoulder. “I’m just going to…” He reached for the plate and the empty tankard and picked them up, off the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t even bother of putting the dishes in their rightful place, he felt that he had to be quick about getting back to him. It felt as if time wasn’t on his side, and he still wasn’t sure if the witcher was to stay for much longer. The only thing he knew, a thought coursing through him just like his heated blood, was that he needed more time. Time to spend with him.

* * *

 

As the wee hours of the morning started to turn into actual morning, they had been talking for hours. About topics big and small. Nothing seemed too insignificant, nor too difficult. They enjoyed each other’s company, but keeping their distance. Trying to figure out where the other would fit in, considering their lives and the situation they were in.

“Yuuri,” the witcher said, “I have a feeling I’ve met you before. Your sister too.” He noticed the innkeep avert his eyes, a pink hue spreading over his cheeks. There was something about him that made him interested, he realised. Strange, though. How a person that ordinary, in a village that far from anything considered special, could make him feel that way.

“It’s true. We’ve met, several years ago.” The brown eyes met his, only briefly, before they looked away. Watching the flames dance in the hearth. “I was but a boy and you saved me. I understand that saving a child probably is something you do on a daily basis, but… well, that’s how we met.”

“I really cannot recall the circumstance.” The innkeep’s words were true. He’d saved more children than fifty midwives combined, without doubt. Only, he saved them from monsters and not the dangers of making acquaintance with life itself.

“It was Belleteyn. Before the actual feast. You stayed until the next day and then, you left.”

He tried to remember. The last time he’d celebrated Belleteyn was a long time ago. Almost impossible to remember. Suddenly, he got a peculiar feeling. Accompanied by a brief memory that flashed before him. Of a little boy. Not like other boys. Soft, careful. And… a wreath of flowers, strangely enough.

He smiled at the memory. Internally, he felt a warmth. Externally, well… it barely showed. “Did they suit me,” he asked. Looking into the innkeep’s eyes. Watching him as he came to terms with what he’d just said, blushing at the realisation.

“They… they did.” His voice was full of something thick, something heady. He leaned in and slowly reached for a couple of loose strands of hair, aiming to push them out of the way. “They matched your hair perfㅡ” He gasped suddenly, retracted his hand with a pained expression on his face. Clutching his chest the second after. 

The witcher got to his feet immediately, instinctively putting his hand on the innkeep’s shoulder. “Are you feeling alright? Yuuri?!”

The innkeep cried out as he tried to keep himself upright, but started to lean over the table on shaky arms. “Please, please! I can’t breathe!” His eyes overflowed with tears as he gasped for air.

“Try to breathe, I’ll get something for the pain,” the witcher said as he turned around and ran up the stairs, taking three steps at a time. His mind was racing, trying to make out what concoction would be safe to give him. Something that would take the edge off the pain, without making him unconscious. It was always hard administering witcher’s potions to common folk.

He rummaged around in his saddlebags until he found a small, wooden box. He quickly grabbed the vial he needed, and went back downstairs, feeling slightly agitated and with a pulse. He didn’t realise it then, but it was the first time he felt that particular sensation since becoming a witcher.

He didn’t know what was more puzzling as he came down the stairs. Feeling adrenaline run through his body, or seeing the innkeep calm and collected. Like nothing had happened in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

They looked at each other, standing some ten paces apart. One of them was breathing heavily, and it wasn’t the innkeep. To the witcher, the situation had become strange. He wasn’t familiar with a pain, seemingly located inside the chest, to disappear that quickly without any aid from concoctions. Not any kind of physical pain, at least.

He took a couple of steps towards the innkeep, who was wiping his forehead. More exhausted than anything else, but calm.

“How are you,” he asked, as he came to a stop. Pulling back the strands of hair that previously had been pushed back by other hands than his own, just a couple of moments before.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m fine. I don’t know what came over me, but you have my word, I’m fine.”

He tried to listen, tried to tune in. He sounded calm. Both the breathing and the heartbeats were levelled. Normal, even. He couldn’t sense anything, not even the telltale scent of adrenaline. He was indeed fine, out of harm’s way. 

He cleared his throat a little before he continued. “I shouldn’t keep you, I’m retiring for the night.” His hand clutched the vial a bit harder than before as he let the words roll off his lips. 

The innkeep’s demeanor changed slightly, becoming something he interpreted as disappointment. He wasn’t sure how to continue, and felt relieved when the innkeep decided to speak. Giving him more time to assess the situation.

“Oh, of course… I am sorry. About this, about… before.” His eyes avoided his, apparently stuck to a window as dawn started to present itself with a rosy glow outside.

When the witcher started to take the last few steps to close the distance between them, he was brusquely interrupted by a raised hand from the innkeep. Guarding himself from him getting close? 

“I… I bid you goodnight,” the witcher said immediately, knowing very well not to disregard cues. How small or insignificant they may seem. “Yuuri?”

“Yes? Yes, Victor?”

Hearing him use his name almost made him lose his train of thought, but he collected himself as quickly as he could. Adamant not to let his body take control over his mind. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

The innkeep flinched. The smallest of muscular twitches. “I… I’m glad,” he said with a voice almost too low to hear.

And with that, they separated. The witcher went up to his room, and the innkeep sat down in front of the hearth. Both of them thinking of the other in ways that were difficult to explain.

* * *

The innkeep was jubilant to notice that the witcher had kept his word. Returning to the inn after having slept far too little, he felt invigorated to see that he was still there. Trying to keep a low profile by sitting on his own, not making much conversation with other patrons.

“Yuuri! Hurry, tend to the guests over there, will you?” His sister stood out over the low and indistinct murmur as she called for him, with a slight annoyance in her voice. 

“Yes, just give me a moment!” He walked into the kitchen to fetch his apron, tying it around his waist by crossing the ties twice as he walked back out to the front. Trying to see if he could get in contact with amber-coloured eyes, but feeling downhearted that he failed. He knew that helping the witcher in keeping a low profile wouldn’t allow too much contact, and he didn’t want to cause him any problems. Or any raised eyebrows either by approaching him, for that matter.

He couldn’t help it, but he wanted a reason to appear, a reason that could give him an excuse to get closer to him. Something as simple as him ordering drinks, wanting something to eat… Or, even having him complain about the lumps in the mattress ruining his sleep would be just as good. But an excuse never came, much to his dismay. 

After being on his feet for a couple of hours, he suddenly felt a sting of jealousy. Seeing his sister sit down opposite the witcher, talking to him, immediately provoked him. Making that feeling of envy almost smother him, with every throb his heart made. 

Before his inner eye, a memory appeared. The feelings connected to that very memory did too. He remembered being young, carrying a wreath of flowers and seeing his sister stand close, too close, to the witcher. Jumping away from him as he appeared through the entrance of a barn on loud feet. He scoffed, and suddenly felt puerile when he realised where the feeling of envy came from and that he still felt the same.

_ He’s not for you. _

He tried to eavesdrop, tried to discreetly prance around them to hear what they were talking about, but got interrupted continuously by patrons. Glared at by his sister, with a look that demanded him to stay away. And frustratingly enough, he finally got invited with a fleeting look across the room. But he couldn’t approach him, he decided. Not just yet. They needed to be alone.

* * *

 

“So, witcher,” the sister said with a sharp tone in her voice as she sat down next to him. Emptying her pipe on the straw-covered floor with a couple of taps. “What are you doing here. Really?”

The witcher laughed internally. He wished he could answer that question truthfully, but he realised that there was no answer there to be told. He decided to use the his standard phrase, a vague and disarming one that rarely provoked. “I’m just passing through. Like I told you yesterday, I just need a place to stay.”

She made a sound that oozed of disbelief. “I have a hard time believing that. The way you came through the door, heading straight for my brother… Do you have something to do with him? Do you have a contract on him?” Her eyes left his for a second, finding her brother on the other side of the room before they came back. Without even as much as a blink. “I doubt you do. I mean, look at him, but one can’t be sure. If witchers can kill kings these days, why not common folk?”

He couldn’t hide his surprise. He let out a little huff, and rested his chin on one of his hands. Not looking away. “Rest assured, it’s nothing of the sort.”

“I won’t let you hurt him, witcher. He’s been through much already and he… well, he thinks good of people.” She paused for a bit, assessing him, it felt like. “He’s weak.”

He felt curious, he realised. He knew that he’d met them before. The brother, he’d saved. But the sister… He couldn’t remember her, but he felt like the bitterness was personal, somehow. Aimed at him. He decided to meet her on her battlefield, to see what was behind her reasons to be that guarded. 

With a wry smile, he thought about what to ask her to make her lose her edge. “What happened to you?” He made sure to pose the question in a way that balanced on the edge of being provoking. How it was phrased, how his tone of voice was. And, he realised with great satisfaction, that it worked perfectly.

She frowned, the expression disfigured her face for just a second, but it was enough. Her voice was in between annoyed and infuriated when she finally answered. “What happened? Witcher, you and your brethren have made life in Velen worse! Not protecting people, killing kings. Capturing hearts and breaking them, leaving like thieves in the night.” She got silent, giving her brother a meaning stare as he passed by, making him pass them without stopping.

She sighed, shedding some of that anger with the exhale. “He’s not been the same. Not since our parents passed. He’s weak, I told you this. Emotionally weak. His feelings, hopes and dreams get the best of him. And I… well, I just don’t trust people’s intentions anymore.” She stood up, looked down at him with the same scrutinising eyes. “Do not hurt him. If I were you, I’d suggest you to stay away. For all our sakes.”

His eyes lingered on her as she walked over to the hearth, when she took a straw off the floor and put it in the fire to light her pipe. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just said. What she meant when she told him not to hurt him, her little brother.

His eyes travelled across the room, found his brown for the briefest of seconds. He realised that her words were just as hard to understand as the sensation he felt when he saw the innkeep look away.

* * *

 

Understanding the predicament, the witcher spent a couple of hours tending to his horse. Grooming her, talking to her. They had been together for over fifteen years, ever since she was a filly. She was his constant companion, the only female creature he’d ever felt at ease with. He could trust her, tell her everything, and he was always met with the quiet understanding that only a horse could provide. He knew this from experience.

He took her out for a gallop on the roads close to the village. The witcher never bothered to tack her up fully, the bridle was enough. Feeling the wind catch his hair as he gave the mare the reins, giving her a little push with his seat to make her extend her strides, always made him find some kind of calm. But not today. He just couldn’t get the sister’s words out of his head.

‘ _ He’s weak, I told you this. Emotionally weak. His feelings, hopes and dreams get the best of him. _ ’

He couldn’t fully understand why she’d told him this. What she meant. What she was expecting of him, now that he knew. 

‘ _ Do not hurt him. _ ’

And… what she was dreading he’d do. Hurt him? In what way? And, most importantly, why? 

He straightened up, made the mare slow down without him having to squeeze the reins. He stroked the horse’s neck, her golden colour amplified by the low sun. It was time to head back, he thought. Before it became too dark to see anything, even for him. He turned the mare around. Allowed her to walk for a while before he gave her a little push to make her canter. Heading back to the inn, where he hoped to get a moment with him. In order to find more answers.

* * *

 

They got a moment, finally. A moment to themselves. When the inn got empty and the sister left. But it took a while, and it ended with the witcher fulfilling what the sister had predicted.

When the inn got still, they shared a meal and pulled up chairs to warm themselves in front of the hearth. Sharing nothing more than each other’s company and the occasional glance. Both battling the desire of needing something more. Finding out what more actually was.

It became a conversation at first.

“Victor?” The innkeep spoke into his tankard.

“Yes?”

“What is it like being a witcher?”

He found it to be an amusing question, which made him huff. “I don’t know. What is it like to be an innkeep?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, but as the innkeep started to speak, he realised that he’d surprised him.

“What it’s like? Ordinary. Safe.” He turned his head to look at the witcher. “Lonely, despite having people around all day. It’s also limiting in a way... because one has to guard a reputation that doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

“I heard of your parents. I’m sorry.”

“They were killed, you know.” His voice suddenly wasn’t steady. “Because of the turmoil after the assassination. There were no lawmen, no soldiers. Everyone upholding order was called over to Vizima, in order to search for the kingslayer. Villages like this one were just there for the taking.” He paused, quickly wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “And oh, they took.”

Instinctively, the witcher touched the innkeep’s hand. He wanted to ease the pain somehow, but quickly let go due to the innkeep’s cry that echoed against the walls.

“It just hurts! There’s just so much pain and it’s impossible to bear!” He hid his face in his hands, shaking due to the sorrow that rippled underneath his skin.

“I…” the witcher began. Wondering if there was a point continuing. “I lost my parents too. I was very young.”

The innkeep appeared from behind his hands, still vibrating. Still feeling mournful. But listening.

“I lived with my uncle for a time. I can barely remember him, nor my parents, but he gave me away. He dropped me off at the door of the Cats.”

“Cats?” The innkeep sniffed, now looking at him.

“My affiliation. The school of witchers who trained me. The School of the Cat. I was six when he left me there, I had just gotten used to living with him and his wife. He had other plans for me. Letting a band of assassins bring me up was the plan in its essence, as it were.” He got lost watching the flames lick the firewood. “Killing kings, that’s not what witchers do, Yuuri. I just want you to know that.”

Their eyes met. By the fire, it looked like they had the same colour. Golden, filled with specks of light. The witcher realised that he was holding his breath, seeing the eyes of the innkeep narrow before they closed completely. Seeing how the innkeep leaned in, with lips parted just a little. He wasn’t sure what to think, but his body made the decision for him instead as he held his hair back and leaned in to meet him. To unite in something he wanted to be the explanation.

When the door of the inn opened with a bang, the innkeep was quick to get on his feet. Leaving the unspoken explanation altogether. The witcher wasn’t sure, but it looked like innkeep’s cheeks had gained some colour.

Through the door stumbled a messenger, staring at them in bewilderment. Breathing heavily as he tried to speak. “The empire is moving! Nilfgaard is rallying troops!” He paused, just for a second, to catch his breath. “Don’t you understand? They are coming for the North!”

  
**~**~**

In the wee hours of the morning, he snuck out. Mounting his horse without a sound. Leaving without saying goodbye. He had to go. He had to see it for himself, he had to understand it. The impending end of the Northern Realms, taking the witchers with it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [TenchiKai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TenchiKai/pseuds/TenchiKai) for being my beta. Highly appreciated!

South. South. South. It was as if a voice calling him, demanding him to venture on. It wasn’t strange to him, hearing her voice. It wasn’t strange to follow it either. His mistress, _The Path._ She had a tendency to make herself known, and he knew better than to resist her. Following her had always been his sole purpose, and he did so. Blindly.

Enveloped by the chill of the night’s air, he decided to aim for the coast, thinking that it would be safe. Or at least slightly uneventful. After all, he just wanted to observe and not get involved. Choosing the right route to make it so was of essence. Also, it was highly probable that Nilfgaard wouldn’t venture there, they would take the high roads to save time. To prevent being intercepted. If, and there was always room for an if, the rumor was true. If they indeed were heading north.

He put his heels into the sides of his mare, making her fall into a canter, only to stop her with a slight squeeze of the reins after a few strides. Inside him, he felt a dissonance. Almost as if… something told him that he should stop and listen? That he shouldn’t leave? It wasn’t her, strangely enough, his mistress. Hearing, or sensing, something else than her and her resolute way of influence came as a surprise. He’d never had room inside for anything else than her, he wasn’t familiar with anyone else than her pointing in the direction he should go. That was probably the reason why he clicked his tongue after a moment of contemplation, feeling a disabling squeeze inside when his mare started to move.

Feeling the movements of his horse slowly erased that sensation. The clench inside growing weaker with every single stride. The uneasiness, the feeling of being crowded by something conflicting, something impossible to grasp just got washed away. After a while, he was alone with nothing but the sound of hooves to keep him company. 

 

**~**~**  

 

He figured that he had to ride west through the City of Cidaris, for starters, to get to the river of Yaruga, it being almost like a natural divide to the south. Nilfgaard had to cross the river to venture on north, it was a fact. Clear as day. They wouldn’t move vast amounts of soldiers by sea, with Skellige ships patrolling the foaming waters, it would be suicide. No matter how vast the Empire was, the Skellige seamen couldn’t be beaten at sea even faced with crippling odds such as being outnumbered. 

But first, Cidaris. Arriving at the walls of the city late at night, he wanted to remain unseen. Stealthy, like a cat in the night. Therefore, he never entered the city, never made his presence known to guards nor straggling drunkards. He decided to find somewhere to sleep, just for a couple of hours and came across a shabby inn just outside the city. 

The innkeep asked no questions and greedily accepted the coins, pointing with his thumb to a flight of stair leading up to the rooms. A good man is one who’s not asking questions, a great man is an innkeep, doing the very same. Not asking questions. 

Not to his surprise, more to his disappointment, he bed’s mattress were lumpy, prickly and unevenly stuffed with straw. Not at all as pleasant as the one he’d left behind. The one in Claywich, where almond shaped eyes, blushing cheeks and a strange physical pull made him stay and were more pleasing than anything he’d come across in a very long time. Claywich, close to five hours away if pushing a horse to its limits. Claywich, where he’d been tethered. 

He closed his eyes, trying to sleep at least for a little while before carrying on. Before him, underneath his closed eyelids, came the image of a different pair of eyes closing, a face leaning in, lips ready to meet his. The explanation he never got, the one he wanted to experience in order to ease his mind. He fell asleep eventually, into a dreamless condition for a couple of hours, at most. 

He was up slightly before the first rays of sunlight managed to crawl over the wall of the city. Painting the landscape with rose, then orange, then yellow. Making it look picturesque. Romantic, even. 

Even though the day had just begun, the word of the empire's advances had reached the city and the villages directly outside it. Inside the city, people were rallying to keep the empire out. Carrying everything that could be used as makeshift barricades. In the villages, people left. Headed north with as much as they could carry on their, or their animals’ backs. _There’s no doubt about it. War is coming._  

Riding south, he eventually reached Kerack, situated on the northern banks of the Adalette river. Maybe a four hour ride from Cidaris if being able keep a normal pace. That wasn’t the case now. The sea of people were never ending. Women with babes clutched to their chests, the elderly, the crippled… Some able-bodied men too, although not many. He scoffed. He knew what kind of people they were, these men. Beasts preying on the weak, the helpless, the feeble. He wanted nothing to do with them. 

He crossed the bridge, being the only one venturing south. He got the occasional odd stare, but as soon as people realised what he was, they averted their eyes. It was apparent that people figured that witchers belonged there. In the heat of it all, trying to get talked into doing the bidding of men with power for a hefty sum. He wasn’t though. He just needed to see without participating. He had morals, standards. He wanted to be neutral, only do what wouldn’t change the course of anything substantial. If the empire of Nilfgaard were to pillage and devastate the north, he would idly sit and watch it happen. It didn’t concern him, not in the slightest, if rulers were to be beheaded and exchanged for someone else holding the banner. If the common folk were to be harmed in the process, well… that would be unfortunate but all a part of warfare. 

He felt a drop in his stomach. Again, images of an question hanging in the air, not being thoroughly answered or explained. _No. It’s… nothing. It’s nothing. There’s nothing there. For me._

* * *

 

That morning, he came across an empty room with an untouched bed. He wasn’t prepared for it. The emotions. Or rather, the lack thereof. Oh, there was a flicker. One that resembled disappointment to a small degree, but nothing more. Just a void that surprised him, considering how he’d felt before. 

_He left. He’s gone._ The thoughts echoed inside him, but created nothing more than the smallest fray in his emotional tapestry. 

He turned around, closing the door behind him. No, he wasn’t feeling upset. He felt empty. So utterly, completely empty. He walked down the short hallway and down the stairs, preparing to meet his sister before he would go and get some time of his own, like always. 

She spotted him immediately, calling out to him from behind the counter. “Yuuri! The witcher, where isㅡ” 

“Not here.” His answer was curt. He hoped that she would get the hint, that talking about him, _Victor_ , was off limits to her. But, being the older sister, the protective older sister, he got nothing more than a couple of seconds of respite. 

“Not here? Is he gone?!” Her voice sounded like it was combusting, firing up with resentment and anger. “Did he leave? When did he leave, Yuuri?” 

“During the night, I guess. He hasn’t used his room, the bed was still made,” he replied. Taken aback by the composure. He wasn’t upset. He really wasn’t. 

“That fucking ass.” 

He watched as she started to rummage around in the pocket of her apron. Her movements were forced, staccato-like. He could tell that she was annoyed for some reason, something he felt she had no reason to. 

“Mari,” he started, only to get an icy stare in return. He watched as she found her pipe and went over to the small embers left alive in the hearth and lit the pipe, uttering something that could be interpreted as curses. “Mari, really. It’s okay. It… really is.” 

“I told him, brother. I told him not to.” She puffed out little clouds of smoke before she turned around, looking him dead in the eye. “I told him not to hurt you. Forget him, Yuuri. It’ll make your life so much easier.” 

If he had felt a void seconds before, it was now changed into something full. Full of anger. “He’ll come back, Mari! Don’t tell me whatㅡ” 

“He’ll come back?! Not to this inn, little brother. He was given a chance, an opportunity to make it right but he did what witchers do. He fucked off, and apparently wasn’t thinking twice about the consequences either.” 

They stared at each other, not being able to meet or reconcile about the witcher. 

“He _will_ come back,” the young innkeep said. “Hopefully before the empire does.” 

 

**~**~**  

 

They could only remain in Claywich for three weeks, being swayed into making a decision to leave seeing the hordes of people travelling north. The word was that Temeria was next on the list to be “annexated” as it was called, making people leave for Rediania. Seeking shelter under the flag of king Radovid V, in lack of other options.

The brother and sister-pair had heated debates, or fights as the patrons called them, before they decided to leave. Selling as much as they could of their belongings and packing the rest. It was with heavy hearts they climbed into their cart, trying not to look over their shoulders as they left their childhood home. 

“I’m sorry, Yuuri.” His sister was biting back emotions he’d never seen her display before. “I’m sorry about all of this. Leaving. Mother and father. Throwing ourselves into uncertainty. But uncertainty is better than being dead.” 

The young innkeep sniffed, too low for his sister to hear. _She’s not sorry about him. About him not coming back._  

“Oh, little brother.” She had apparently seen him covering his mouth for a second. A trait that came from their mother. That was probably why her voice softened. “Let’s head for Oxenfurt first. Then we’ll decide what to do. Fair?” 

He nodded, taken with his sister’s softer side. She did care about him, he knew that, but he longed for something else. Something else entirely. But he was starting to lose hope, disregard what a slightly rotund man with the darkest eyes he’d ever seen promised him on a rainy evening, more than a month ago. 

_Tell you what, your wish is my command. You will meet him. Again and again and again._ If he ever wanted any words to have a meaning, to be true, it were those words. Those words that had set him aflame when he first heard them, only to make him combust when the silver-haired witcher had almost fallen through the door, seconds later. They had been true, once. But it could have been a fluke. A strange twist of fate. Or… maybe even something else. He didn’t care, he realised. He just wanted him. Have him close and hope that he, _Victor_ , would want him in the same way. 

His mind strayed, desperately seeking out all the small bits and pieces he could remember of their evening together. Their last evening. How the fire had made the witcher’s eyes look even more like pieces of amber. How his hair seemed to be made out of both silver and gold. And how close they had been. Close to finding out something that he knew, something that had sustained him for many years. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure if this something was reciprocated at all. Acknowledged by the witcher in any way.

 He could only hope that if fate had a heart, their paths would cross again. No matter the cost.

* * *

 

“Is this seat taken?” 

He never heard the question. Being on the road for so long had made him immune to conversation. He didn’t want the company of others, remembering being burned by many interactions he had to put up with for the last… yes, he’d been on the road for nearly three months, having being caught up in too many unpleasant events that sought to sway him in his neutrality. 

He had been travelling south, and made it to the Yaruga, dividing the north and the south with its waters. The rumors weren’t rumors, they had been truthful. Nilfgaard had started to cross, focusing on putting soldiers in both Verden and Brugge. 

He felt slightly impressed by the endeavor. Moving that many men, horses and everything that comes with large scale warfare and battalions takes time. And meticulous planning. To Nilfgaard, it seemed simple. Almost like a weekend stroll. But it had also made him uneasy. 

He’d been stuck in between the eastern and western flank of the Nilfgaardian army, with the western travelling north on the very same path he’d been going south. He had to reroute, and against his better judgement, he’d been riding close to the eastern border of the Brokilon Forest with the river Ribbon to his right. Luckily, Nilfgaards presence had some effect on the many rogue bands of elves in the area, keeping them on their toes but not willing to dart out of the woods as soon as the opportunity arose. 

So, that’s where he was now. In a small inn, drinking just enough to leave him with a pleasant buzz but still being vigilant. The inn wasn’t too close to the forest, mind, but closer to it than to the city of Dorian to the east. 

“Cat got your tongue?” 

The joke made him leave his reveries. He’d heard that one a lot, and his hand almost automatically put his necklace, depicting a hissing cat, inside his armour. 

He raised his gaze, and was looked down at by a man. Slightly rotund, bald, with a stubble shadowing his cheeks. He looked ordinary, extremely ordinary, if it wasn’t for his eyes and his smile. That smarmy smile that didn’t match the incredibly dark eyes. The witcher couldn’t decide which of the man’s features he disliked the most. 

“Funny,” the witcher replied, diverting his gaze to the table as he put his tankard to his lips. 

“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry, my good man.” 

“Don’t mind. It’s not just you.” 

“Not much of a talker, are we? Hm. Can I join you? Master Witcher?” 

“Feel free. Seems like I won’t be getting rid of you no matter what I answer.” 

“There… might be some truth to that,” the bald man said, sounding awfully cheery. He pulled out a chair and motioned for the female innkeep to approach. “Wine, miss. Any kind.” 

She nodded and turned swiftly on her heels. 

“Been on the road long?” The dark-eyed man put his fingers together, staring intently at the witcher. 

“I know a saying about cats and curiosity. It doesn’t end well. For the cat.” 

“In that case, let’s introduce ourselves properly! I’m Gaunter. Gaunter O’Dimm. Some people know me as Master Mirror. It was my old trade, see. Selling mirrors. Now I, hah, see the world, one might say.” 

“Master Mirror,” the witcher said with a slight annoyance to his voice, “I don’t know what should be considered more peculiar. A retired vendor of mirrors in these parts of Temeria or him meeting with a witcher.” 

“I’m annoying you?” The bald man’s smile grew even wider. Sinister, almost. “Oh, don’t reach for your dagger, I mean you no harm.” 

_He’s extremely observant, this Master Mirror. This Gaunter O’Dimm._  

“Well, yes,” the dark-eyed man said, pausing as the innkeep came back with a glass and a bottle of wine. “Splendid. Thank you, love.” 

He took his time pouring it, almost making a show of it, the witcher thought. 

“As I was saying, yes. I’m very observant.” 

The witcher felt a chill down his spine. He didn’t feel his necklace vibrate, which it always did when being in the vicinity of magic. This man, slowly pouring wine... he wasn’t ordinary although that is what he wanted people to think. But it seemed like nothing magical was attributed to him, which was strange. The witcher knew, instantly as the chill dissipated, that he had to be cautious. Extremely cautious. 

As he rendered his mind blank, his company raised his eyebrows. Ever so slightly, hardly recognisable. 

“Oh-hoh. I like you,” he replied as he tasted his wine. “You are observant too. Too bad that it’s a trait rarely seen in, say, common folk.” 

They looked at each other, seemingly trying to get out more information by just observing the one sitting opposite. 

“Master Witcher. Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” 

The witcher decided to answer instantly, not opening up his mind to thoughts. “I’m a witcher. I follow The Path.” 

“True. But wouldn’t you agree that you’ve felt another… itch? Something new to infuse your cold and weary heart?” 

This time, he couldn’t stop himself. Thoughts of being washed, thoughts of being close, thoughts of coming through a door. Thoughts of closing eyes and parted lips. He cursed himself, knowing that he’d exposed himself. Adrenaline started to course through him, making his ears full of a low hiss. 

The bald man laughed, but the laugh wasn’t joyful. It sounded oily, sycophantic. Like it was a reaction to something found, something extremely interesting. 

He instinctively reached for his dagger, it was the weapon that took the least amount of time to brandish. 

“No, Master Witcher. Don’t do that. We’re just making conversation, no need for violence. Trust me.” The bald man theatrically snapped his fingers with a smile, pushing his wineglass off the table with a flourish. 

The witcher looked at the man with the dark eyes, tried to sense something, anything. He saw him smile and nod a little, pointing at the wineglass that was upside down, in mid-air with its contents still in it. 

“Look.” A little nod coerced the witcher to look behind him. 

Initially, nothing seemed awry. But when he paid attention to the not so obvious things, the smaller details, he felt a clawing sensation in his chest. The fire in the hearth didn’t move. Nor did the cat that jumped off of the windowsill, seemingly suspended in time. 

His attention was claimed by the sound of a chuckle, which made him turn his head. 

“Master Witcher… Lovely making your acquaintance! Truly!” With a snap of his fingers, the wine glass tumbled to the floor. Breaking into a million pieces, spluttering wine across the floor. 

The witcher got distracted by this, his eyes caught looking at the countless reflections made by the shards on the floor. When he raised his gaze, he was alone, but a voice lingered in the air. 

“ _Oh. It shattered_.”


End file.
